


the lesser birds of paradise

by fisherqueens



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 10:43:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10852332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fisherqueens/pseuds/fisherqueens
Summary: he gets the girl, sort of. in a way, maybe peter gets him. that sounds a lot better. or worse, it just depends on how you look at it.(basically penumbra except everyone has wings and those wings are hella sensitive/important/intimate extensions of ourselves aka good good indulgent wing!fic. multi-chapter and slightly canon-divergent.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> come get at me on my twitter at [filledwithbees](https://twitter.com/filledwithbees) or tumblr at [fisherqueens](http://fisherqueens.tumblr.com/). i am a cheerful bean who likes yelling about juno steel a lot.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a dye job. the beginning of a reminiscence.

In time, the two of them will come to understand that fear and mistrust is a mask that love wears.

-

Juno Steel should know better, of course. This kind of thing is a tale as old as time itself, written in the annals of all good crime fiction. It’s always the beautiful ones, the ones with bright eyes and supple mouths and skin that feels like satin sliding underneath his battered knuckles. Peter Nureyev feels like something stolen and sacred. Temptation poured into a human mold doesn’t belong in Juno’s hands, but it manages to feel so perfect here and now. Trusted to him. Loving him.

Juno has had klaxons blaring in the back of his mind since he worked out Rex Glass for who he truly was. It’s been hurdle after hurdle after hurdle and now… here they are.

He gets the girl, sort of. In a way, maybe Peter gets _him_. That sounds a lot better. Or worse, it just depends on how you look at it.

Regardless, they’re here. They’ve made it. The end of the story.

He's kneeling at the foot of the old bathtub with the water running and swirling black. His shirt sleeves are rolled up, arms stained, fingers raking through brilliant, white feathers that are getting murkier and darker by the second. He rubs in a downward motion and white wings flex outwards, giving him more surface area to cover. Every feather, every stalk. Most would give anything for a set of wings this brilliant, but here sits Peter Nureyev on the edge of Juno’s dingey bathtub while Juno himself is defiling them, smearing inky blackness over them. He knows that when they dry, they will shimmer blue-green-violet-indigo from root to tip. He knows that when he is through, Peter Nureyev will be someone else entirely, beautiful and dark.

Peter _purrs_ under his hands, arching with each touch. He says his name with all the slick poison and heat of an oil spill seeping into his every pore as Juno lets his fingers rub tight circles just beneath where scapula and humerus melt into a joint. It’s definitely just to make sure he gets even coverage where Peter’s skin meets feather of course. Juno won’t say a word against that, but truth be told: he loves it, kneeling over the bath and working handful after handful of dye into Peter’s beautiful feathers, full and soft. He loves the way Peter’s eyes look vulnerable and honest without his glasses, how they make Juno’s heart wobble sickly, how he leans in and how Juno can't help but lean back up in turn and kiss him. "Thank you," Peter whispers against his lips between each kiss. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

Juno fists a small bundle of feathers in his palm, letting the warm dye slide down his knuckles as thick as blood.

Peter cradles the back of his head, resting his forehead softly against Juno’s and smiling just a little bit. To Juno, this is startlingly… the most tender smile he’s seen flashing over Peter’s lips. He wants to touch it. He wants to touch Peter as he is here in this weak yellow light. Peter with so many faces, so many names. Peter ( _Pete, Petey, Peter Peter lily-eater)_ the little hungry boy with grimy feathers and a never-ending, shapeless hunger. Peter the Fox with wings as white as snow and a name known infamously throughout a city floating over Brahma like a ponderous shadow. Peter No More, a man who descended upon that fair city and saved it in his youth from plans of delusion and revolution, but simultaneously haunts it. He's a shadow, a tale, a boogeyman snapping down on the ankles of the rich.

Peter Nureyev is... someone so incredibly confusing and beautiful that he makes Juno's heart combust over

and over

and over again.

And he knows that he makes Peter feel very much the same way.

Juno blinks out of reverie when Peter's fingers begin rake softly at the hair behind his head, carding intimately through the soft feathers there that match his own wings--tawny, dark, thick. He stares at him head on in that small, claustrophobic bathroom through his one, good eye and he sees him: Peter, _his_ Peter, loved and loving, oddly tender with his teeth as white as moon dust. He’s overwhelmed. They kiss and they kiss again, so many times that Juno loses count and instead of clutching Peter's wings to wring the excess dye out, he's digging fingers into his back like he's evaporating out of existence.

And maybe he is.

Peter clutches back like he knows. He probably does.

Eventually, Juno breaks to speak, letting fingers uncurl, smoothing them down again to feel the softness of Peter’s skin underneath his palm. "Never once thought about... leaving them white?"

Peter's wings flick a bit, spatter the wall with black.

"White stands out in a way that's bad for everyone. This, Juno.” A chuckle, dark and rich. “Well, _this_ is better," Peter says this while stretching out his legs slowly. "Better for me. For _you_. And again, for me." Peter is taking a detour on this heavy conversation, Juno can already tell by the way his mouth tightens up. "All this Martian dust does _nothing_ for my plumage. White gets filthy so easily. Why... you don't like the black?" His lips shape into a playful kind of pout, but behind his eyes, Juno knows he misses it. White feathers, they're not something that come around too often, not in full bouquets like Peter's, pure as the driven snows on any Olympian brand ski resort. "Maybe I'll go blue next time--would that please you?"

"Mmm, you don't exactly scream blue bird to me," Juno says, the laughter a bit strained as he turns on the tub's tap, rinses his hands slowly and lets Peter shake off some of the excess dye.

"Red, then," Peter says slyly, reaching over to grab a towel.

"Ooh, definitely... not..." Juno says.

"It'd make clean up rather easy." he replies, sounding as though he's seriously considering it.

" _Gross_."

-

But let's rewind a little bit.

Let’s say that this starts with a call from an _old_ friend.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a phone call, an agent, a mask, and a key.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wings! juno's wings are that of a [harrier hawk](http://bit.ly/2qHb2zI) (thanks to my lovely friend pax for this). meanwhile, peter is some bastardized version of a [magpie](http://bit.ly/2kuQ53I), all iridescent black and nixing the white detailing. he likes being confusing. 
> 
> the kanagawas are all [shrikes](http://bit.ly/2pWiiF2) aka birds with a nasty habit of impaling their prey and saving them for later in "larders" to either eat or show off to potential mates.
> 
> also i have no clue when the next part is coming out for this so /laughs hollowly and sinks into the abyss...

****It starts with a call from an old friend.

"Friend" is a loose term these days.

 _Good_ old Sasha Wire calls his office. Her voice feels like a good ear boxing, two black eyes, and a broken femur. She says she’s got a case that Dark Matters needs him in on. She minces no words. It has to do with the Kanagawas, the untimely death of Croesus Kanagawa, an alien mask and a curse. Juno would refuse, but Sasha drives a hard bargain and the pay that’s hits the Agency’s bank account isn’t anything to sneeze at.

So Juno agrees to meet Dark Matter’s contact at a local bar.

 _Well_.

Maybe less of a _bar_ . It's a much ritzier establishment than some regular old dive on his side of town and while it's nothing as lavish as Valles Vicky's, it's certainly up there with its shimmering, crisp neon  and not a single bulb missing. The place is called _The Bacchanalia_. The name says it all.  When Juno steps inside, he's thankful no one's trying to tear each other apart like the name might suggest. In fact, the place is almost dream-like as he walks through the door. Someone tries to check his coat, but he lifts his ID up briefly, glancing their way.

It stays on.

He trains his eyes ahead.

 _You'll know him when you see him_ , _no uniform, third from the bar, French 75. Oh and Juno, just…_ try _and make a good impression on Agent Glass._ _And also... The Bacchanalia isn't going to let you past the velvet ropes if you're wearing the same unlaundered shirt you wore last week. And the week before that._  

Goddamn Dark Matters. Sasha probably knew what he had for breakfast a month ago too and the last time he took a piss. Sasha seemed to know everything these days.

As he makes his way through the dimly lit indigo  establishment, Juno is looking for a Sasha Wire cookie cut-out. In all that hookah and saccharine sweet smell, Agent Glass _has_ to be sitting in the furthest corner at the bar with his back to the wall in some booth so he can watch the exits. Sharp eyes. Sharp jaw. Sharp shades. Sharp everything. _Dark Matters_ to the letter.

What he finds _instead_ is a lean figure sitting at the bar with his chin in his hand and his wings neatly folded by his shoulders, the shape of them beautiful and soft, full-feathered, smooth and shining. They're ostentatiously _black,_ soaking in and reflecting color all at once somehow. In front of him? A French 75 with a little twist of lemon. Juno at once goes dry in the mouth. He feels woefully underdressed, even having donned his slightly "better" trench, the one he doesn't wear every goddamn day. His own feathers ruffle up just a bit as he looks over this Agent Glass. The man makes him feel significantly less well-groomed than everyone here in this room. Agent Glass certainly looks every bit an agent, but not in the way Sasha does. He's long, sinuous, wearing something that is definitely _not_ standard Dark Matters issue. The dress is a sheath, the kind you'd wear if you were a knife, with a tempting little slit going up the thigh, teasing itself shut just before it can get downright scandalous. You'd think the man were straighter than a rebar, but he _curves_ so dangerously, a tapering waist, just enough hip. He looks like he could kiss you or kill you and all it’d take is a change of the consonants and a couple of seconds. Both would be blissful experiences.

It looks like he's just out for a night on the town. Juno tries to swallow again, but it doesn't work. His mouth is drier than the Martian desert. _So… this is what they call thirsty_ , he realizes bleakly, attempting to wet his lips before he steps over to the man. The bartender is chatting with Glass warmly before Juno slides into the seat beside him, clearing his throat.

Rex takes a few moments to acknowledge him, lifting his glass and admiring how it glows in the lighting. He takes a sip and Juno tries not to watch his lips kissing the rim. Juno taps his foot impatiently. Loudly.

Agent Glass turns, perfectly manicured brow arched. He speaks.

It’s like music.

"Do you make a habit of keeping your dates waiting, Detective? I'm one for suspense, but this is really, really, just," The man glances at his watch, a little thing on a strap of black with a narrow face. "Silly. It’s been a half hour. Who knows.” He leans in. “I _might_ have tried to go home with someone else instead of waiting for you just so I could pass the time."

"Don't think that would have ended up well for either of us," Juno mutters.

"In any case, I'm certainly glad I chose to stick around. No regrets now that you're here." The man holds out his hand and smiles. "Rex Glass," he says very softly. "A pleasure to finally make your acquaintance." There's no agent before it, no mention of Dark Matters, not here, but Juno knows by the look in his eyes that there's something keen in them, definitely the proper material for the job upstairs. Rex calls for the bartender with a charming smile. "Dion, could you get a drink for my friend here? What's your poison, Detective?"

Juno's mouth is still too sandy to say much else so he nods and lets go of Rex Glass' slender hand. Juno croaks out a request for scotch, neat. What gets set before him is top shelf and tastes like velvet gold. Juno knows he's drinking too fast, but like that's ever really stopped him before. He'll make bad decisions whether he's drunk or sober. He and Rex don't talk business, they just drink and it doesn’t take Juno more than a second to realize that this is an evaluation. Rex doesn't take his eyes off of him except to laugh once in awhile while Juno. Well.

Between the conservative neckline of the dress and the not-so-conservative slit baring so much skin...

It's hard to look Glass in the eyes.

Glass seems all too aware of it as they case one another carefully.

“Do you work with many partners, Detective? You seem like the type to work best alone.”

Juno thinks back to Sasha and grits his teeth a bit. “Yes. That’s usually how I prefer it. I like running the show myself. Makes things a little cleaner.”

“A shame. I think you could do with a number two.”

“Don’t need one, never needed one, not planning on adding someone else to the equation if I can help it.”

“And when you can’t?” Rex asks, cheek on his palm.

“Then I just make do.”

When all is said and drunk, Rex walks Juno back to his apartment. Their wings are held carefully apart in the dark, but the hair at the nape of Juno’s neck still prickles on end. They don't walk elbow to elbow, rather, Rex has gone from swinging his arms at his side to gently holding Juno's arm, his stride even with his own. Juno can't stop looking at him--a slender arm, artful fingers, the dark lacquer, rings made of god knows what. He looks like a dream (or maybe a nightmare),  but he's definitely too beautiful for someone to have just brought into existence. He must be some trick of the light.

Rex suddenly catches his eyes up and smiles.

Oh.

 _Shit_.

He's been staring.

Juno's face feels unbearably hot as they stop under the streetlight just a few paces from Juno's apartment. "This is mine, but uh. You'll be meeting me at my office to discuss things at... let's say noon?" Rex slides fingers along the tall collar of Juno's coat and he can feel the scrape of his perfectly manicured nails, almost leans up into them. Shit. Fuck. _Damn_ it, Sasha. Fuck. Damn. Fuck fuck _fuck_.

Rex smiles.

Juno resists as much as he's able to with a sour-looking twist of his lips.

"Noon it is. I look forward to tomorrow, Detective," Rex says tenderly, and it sounds like a love confession. "Something tells me this is going to be _quite_ the partnership."

Juno feels his finger draw just along his jaw, and he can't take his eyes away as Rex turn and walks back in the other direction, body melting into the shadows with every sporadically-placed street light. He disappears. Juno's gut clenches.

When he finally makes it inside, Juno leans against the door of his apartment, already beginning to undo his coat, letting it slide down between his wings. He'd normally hang it up but tonight it just slithers to the floor, pools at his feet. He realizes that he isn't drunk on the scotch, as good as it was and as plentiful as it'd flowed. He's _high_ off the smell of Rex Glass' cologne, something spiced and warm, curling and sensuous. He can still smell it on his own clothes, when he beats his wings out, when he pushes his face into the pillow like one touch had coated him with the stuff.

Juno sleeps and he dreams about Rex Glass letting him peel him out of that little black number, bearing down on him with wings that swallow the light. He dreams great handfuls of feathers, imagines that maybe they’d be so soft. Crushed velvet, whispering silk in the dark, dark, _dark_.

-

He wakes up multiple times in an uncomfortably sticky situation.

"This is a bad idea," he says to his ceiling in the middle of the night. "This is _such_ a bad idea."

He palms himself anyways and curses Sasha half the time while cursing Rex Glass the other half.

-

On the Kanagawa's case the next day, it's no better.

Rex Glass is an absolutely _infuriating_ creature and Juno both loathes and hungers for him at the same time. Sasha wasn't kidding when she'd said he was eccentric, fluttering here and there, talking far too quickly in circles, standing so close to Juno that he wants to leap out of his skin at the proximity and try to crawl inside of Rex's own. The sleek, black pinions of Rex's wings eat up the light and spit it back out in hues of amethyst and sapphire, jewel tones that glitter enticingly--emeralds and rubies.

Hell, he looks even better in his uniform than he did in the dress from the _Bacchanalia_ , a tapered waist, long, lean legs, an ass that looks as good in trousers as it does in a vixen of a little black number.

It's probably why Juno gets so enveloped in him so quickly, enmeshed in the glamorous brilliance of his wings, in how he leans in too close for comfort, in his knowledge of ancient alien artificery and lore. The evening is eventful to say the least between their interrogation of the Kanagawas to the most delightful near-death experience at the ends of Croesus’ literal _shrike_ of a son, Cecil. Being tied down with the inevitable fate of being impaled and becoming apart of Cecil’s _delightful_ larder wasn’t exactly a part of the plan.

He remembers the panic as his cutter had dropped, Rex shifting uncomfortably behind him and instructing him to search his back pockets for something else that they might use. Between the hot lights overhead and the taste of something bitter and sharp on his lips, Juno is at a loss. Every movement Rex makes against him, their wings mashed together in an uncomfortably intimate way, sends electrical currents racing up and down his spine.

“Sorry,” he mutters with every flick of his wings against Rex’s. “Sorry, shit--sorry… _what_ the _hell_ , Glass, do you nip everything you see and just shove it in your pockets?”

“Sorry, bad habit,” Rex says, rather sheepishly though the breathy quality to his voice has Juno’s fingers shaking as he digs in deeper. Among the ruinous insides of Rex Glass' pockets, he can't say he could avoid feeling the taut curve of his ass once or twice, _completely_ by accident, groping for something familiar between two halves of a… sandwich?

Rex laughs, letting out a surprisingly bright little noise. His feathers audibly rustle and Juno feels them lift. "Oh! _Juno_ , Are we calling this the first date?"

Juno grimaces bleakly. "That depends, Glass,” he says, turning the heavy duty plasma cutter on and beginning to work through the chains keeping them bound together. “Are you gonna buy a lady dessert?"

-

By the end of the evening, Juno’s blood is _humming_ for Rex Glass like it's fucking mating season. But there’s no dancing and there’s no singing.

It’s just a _free fall_. All talons.

-

Grim's mask is in his safe and Rex is sitting just beside him, talking of all the great wonders of the galaxy with the stars in his own eyes. He breathes about greater purpose and together they drain their glasses, alive and as well as they're going to get for the night.

Juno's heart is pumping hard and Rex Glass? Well. He certainly does look like a glass of something tall and refreshing. He wants to take him in his hands and do a hell of a lot more than just drink and talk and…

Well. Rex, must be a total mind reader.

Or _maybe_ Juno’s just drooling.

"Come here, Juno," Rex whispers, the sound of his glass being set down on one of the old worn knots on the surface of his desk is _startling_. Before he can even blink there’s a hand on the nape of his neck, breath warm with whiskey.

Lips softer than anything he's ever known give him the kiss of his dreams while hands map out the shape of his body, sliding up under his shirt. Quick, slender fingers slipping…

 _into_ his back pocket. Lifting, _lifting_ , little thing with a tongue on the tops of his teeth that makes him shiver helplessly, but god he can feel it like a leaden weight in the pit of his gut-- _lifting_. He _knows_ there's a second game afoot as one famous detective once exclaimed eons before him. There’s a small weight lifted out of his pockets, transferred up a sleeve. Goddamn _thief_.

They kiss like this for a while, high on the latent adrenaline from earlier, Glass holding onto him fast like he’ll slide away too soon and Juno feeling like he’s going to wash away with the tide. He wants to focus on his mouth, on how smooth he tastes, but all he can think about are the fingers that had ghosted down his pockets, taken the key, holding him now like they’d done no such thing. These same fingers smooth down his wings, thread through the feathers, stroke and caress in a way that Juno has _missed_ so desperately.

You don’t let just anyone do this. It just isn’t how it works.

So his knees buckle.

He’s weak for it, the touch, the warmth, contact. He practically warbles a soft little song into his mouth and Rex in turn croons back to him, a soft little "detective" high on his voice as they kiss. Juno tries to literally tattoo Rex into the uncomfortable edge of his desk, pushing and rolling his hips, tugging at his clothing and kissing him open-mouthed and sloppy like he’ll never kiss again because, shit, he may _not_ at any rate after this.

He should stop it. Honestly? He should _just end it_ where it is, but Rex’s body is radiating warmth and want and Juno’s instincts are bleeding too hard into his rational brain. Rex’s fingers dig into his upper arms and Juno’s do the same, sinking in _hard_ and making Rex keen in turn. It doesn't take long before they're pushing papers off his desk, shoving the cheap whiskey bottle and celebratory glasses to the side. One falls, but doesn’t break. The other tumblr lands on its side, but is empty. He sinks his fingers deep into Glass' svelte hips where it'll bruise in the morning and looks him in the eye. He takes him first, desperate to bury himself deep and drown before he has to save himself with reality. It should end here. It’d be perfect. He's got Rex in a good position, hands pinned to the table, body pliant as they move against one another.

But he doesn't stop.

He forces Rex down even harder on the desk, watches inky black wings half-flare out with a cry and flap in that ungainly kind of way to get balance because Juno's not wasting any time. His belt clinks, fabric shuffles down. They're alive and while bloodied, they're still breathing and Juno barely feels his arm singing out in pain anymore.

"Is this what we're calling dessert?" Rex murmurs over his shoulder, the smile never fading, voice syrupy sweet and _god_ if that isn't _exactly_ what Juno had meant as he reaches around and unbuckles the standard-issue uniform that Rex has been so diligently poured into. He peels it down over his thighs, just beneath the curve of his ass, reaches around again to undo the little streamlined latches in front to slide it down Rex's arms, unclips the shoulder clasps so when it comes off of Rex his back is naked and beautiful. Juno admires it a moment beneath the swinging lamp over his desk. His wings glimmer a little less, but that _shade_ is so impressively deep.

Goddamn it, Steel.

He buries his face in the vulnerable little spot between Rex's shoulders and takes a deep breath.

It's like Old World cinnamon and clove, but sharper, a little pocket knife nicking your nose, sweet and enticing and dangerous. He lays the flat of his tongue between his wings, on that little strip of skin and spine where you can feel every muscle meet and move in a perfect knot.

Rex Glass sighs out like an ocean breeze over some moon's quicksilver ocean.

Juno grabs fistful of feathers in one hand, slides another hand down to lift something small and sharp out of Rex Glass' back pocket. His goddamn safe key. ( _Thief. Thief. Thief._ )

He pockets it quickly, flipping Rex over onto his back and staring him in the eyes. He could do it now, arrest him, make some quip about catching him with his pants down (what a great opportunity), but hell if he doesn't look good sprawled out like this, eyes bright and clever.

In the end, Juno concedes this much. His blood his thrumming hard and his entire body is singing just for Rex's bone structure, his muscles, his smell. Rex leaves long, red welts down Juno's back, clutching him from his place now half-sat up on his desk and he feels them burning down his spine. It doesn't take long for him to push the thief onto his cock. His glasses have long since been pushed up his face and their noses create bruises where they meet too roughly, teeth scraping and clicking too hard, but god if Juno can't bear to part just yet. Rex is tight and clever, clever with his mind, clever with his mouth, his teeth, his body like a whip. He fucks him on his desk until they knock his comms off and nearly take his computer out the same way. Only _then_ does he decide to pick him up (and nearly drop him all at once when Rex bites into his throat with a whimper).

This is always messy. Juno knows now why he doesn't like office sex. Too many things to break when wings get involved and not enough budget to fix those things. His span is wide enough, and while Rex's is a good deal smaller than his own, he's still wild, a little ungainly, too lost into it. He's flush and hungry just like Juno and they kiss and their wings beat at the door frame as they pass through it.

He pushes Rex down onto the mattress at last and watches his feathers flare out and flatten, belly up, body arched like a gift.

He can tell by the look in Rex's eyes that this probably wasn't apart of the plan.

 _Believe me_ , he thinks. _It wasn't apart of mine either._

Juno bears down over him, pants undone just enough so that he can press back into Rex Glass, or whoever he is, without a second thought.

-

It begins where it ends, with Juno Steel staring upwards into the dark, his burnished wings sprawled uncomfortably, Rex Glass laying atop one and sleeping like a fledgling infant against the auburn and white feathers. Juno's wing curls just a little bit around him instinctively, his body still flush with endorphins milling about, fever-hot and hungry for the nape of Rex's neck again.

He resists.

"This was a bad idea," Juno says out loud to his ceiling, as if it might have some sort of advice to impart on him: a mere _mortal_.

This scene feels familiar to him, depressingly so.

The ceiling doesn't answer back with anything useful. It creaks. It groans a little. A bit of plaster crumbles down to the floor in dusty particles. The little fixtures of his overhead fan tinkle just faintly with whatever elephant of a tenant over his bedroom is bouncing around at two in the morning. The fan's fixtures shake again. Beside him, Rex's feathers flick just faintly in sleep. Juno watches a moment, waiting for Rex to open his eyes wide at being watch, but he sleeps on, slightly open-mouthed, smart glasses gone, neatly-coiffed hair mussed and in an artful disarray. A few loose feathers wiggle even looser with a whisper of wind from Juno's open window so the entire place doesn't completely reek of Rex Glass and sex.

He reaches out in the dark just to pull them free, letting them slip through his knuckles and onto the sheets between them to poke his thigh painful later in the morning (they look sharp.)

Rex snores a response that sounds like a cross between his name and "more."

Juno feels the nape of his neck prickle just a bit.

He strokes again, slower, lingering, pulling a couple of loose feathers again and this time dropping them off the edge of the bed to join the rest (they'd lost a few in their passion. It's natural. It happens. Handfuls. Old feathers. They'll grow back.) His own wings give a little twitch sympathetically in response and he grunts.

"This was _such_ a bad idea," Juno says again to his ceiling, hoping that maybe some sage advice will come floating in through the window.

No advice comes.

More thudding.

Rex snores again and Juno eyes his predatory teeth, still feels them on his fingers, on his throat, on his ribs, his hips, his thighs, knees...

Juno groans in defeat and turns his head, watching the entire time as Rex continues to sleep.

-

Truth be told, Juno doesn't mean to doze off, but sometime during his watch, Rex throws a soft wing over him in the middle of the night, pressing the tip of his nose into the divot of his collarbone. He can feel Glass’ breath against his skin, a contented sigh, the feeling of his knees brushing his own, feathers brushing, sliding against his own. He wants to push him back, he _should._

God there were so many things he _should have done but didn’t_.

But sleep takes him, light sleep, and  when he wakes up, it's with a start to one of Mars' suns is cresting his window and the left side of his bed is empty.

There's a note with a little dark feather pinned to the surface of the page.

"This was such a bad idea," Juno grunts, still half-asleep and reaching out a hand to fist both paper and feather in his hand, closing his eyes.

_Don't miss me too much._

_RG_

"Five more minutes," Juno whispers to no one in particular.

Five more minutes turns into an hour. He knows he should definitely wake up. Nothing about this smells right, _feels_ right, but god does every bone in his body seem amazingly put together, every muscle soothed, every ache worn away by keen fingers and tongue after last night. He feels like maybe he deserves just a little bit of a moment (or sixty) to enjoy the haziness the entire situation brings him.

Wow. Him. Deserving something. That's a new one.

-

The next time Juno wakes up, it's to the smell of coffee. It's strong, like right near his cheek strong, and he blinks away with a deep breath, forcing himself bolt upright because no one else should be in here unless...

"Good morning," he says instantly as the coffee, poured high into a cup, is pulled back just slightly, enough that he can take it in his hands and stare at Rex, who is standing rather calmly beside him, dipped low so that their eyes can meet. He's put that little Dark Matter's number back on and his dark wings come down behind him like coattails, bent just perfectly so that they cling to his silhouette.

It's almost a shock that he's come back.

Juno remembers the key and eyes his pants on the ground before realizing he should really hike his sheets up a little higher over his hips. Decency.

"Good morning, dear Detective," Rex purrs sweetly, still holding onto the handle of the mug and making sure that it's settled nicely in Juno's hands before letting go. "You have a poorly stocked kitchen so I took it upon myself to fix that for you. I brought some coffee and a few things for breakfast, though it seems that maybe we're a bit late for that."

What's this guy doing... playing house?

Juno looks blearily over the black coffee and takes a casual, lazy sip of it. His back aches just slightly, left wing letting out an awkward twinge as recompense for having slept on it strangely. He stretches it out idly over the empty side of the bed and Rex's eyes instantly move to it, eyes following the line of him until he's fully stretched out before he withdraws the appendage. This bed wasn't made for two people with six long, moving parts, but they'd made do out of desperation. Juno doesn't really regret it until he stretches the other wing while Rex situates himself on the mattress beside him, chattering about something inane that he's only half-listening to because he's watching him, the faint little flicking of his feathers, how he's preening over them with the tips of his fingers both top and bottom and while it looks meticulous, it also looks too meticulous.

"You alright?" he asks, clearing his throat over his coffee. His voice still feels pitifully hoarse and it comes out sounding withered.

"Hm?" Rex looks up through his glasses and smiles. His fingers are playing along the outer edge of his left wing, smoothing down a few twisted edges. "Oh no, I'm just fine. Sleeping was--a bit cramped of course, but rather satisfying. Just have to keep straightening out a few feathers you managed to bend so terribly, you brute."

God, it's _sweet_. How he says this.

Juno feels nausea (or fondness) roiling in the pit of his belly. Fuck. He should eat something too. He should probably brush his teeth.

Maybe put on some clothes. Clothes seem important.

But Rex is making it difficult, leaning in so that Juno feels suddenly overwhelmed in the very scent of him, the one that's been cloying and lingering around him for the past two days and night. He shivers as lips brush his own, warm. He's suddenly aware that his teeth are still unbrushed.

But god. Someone once told him he'd find a nice bird that'd stir him up just right.

He's definitely stirred. Shaken. Melting.

He's _melting_ and Rex is hotter than the sun, wings coming up to his sides like great dark things and curving around Juno with an intimate sense of safety reserved just for a pairing. That makes him slowly set the cup of coffee off to the side so he can settle his hands on Rex's waist and smooth down the lean lines of him. Rex is built like a whip, muscle and bone constructed slim and perfect. What _is_ he? He can feel the little muscles of his quivering wings from his back begin to thrum with excitement as he guides him into his lap. "Rex," he sighs very softly against his mouth, feeling the lithe weight of him settle over his still-sleep heavy thighs.

He backs up against the headboard.

Rex pulls back from the kiss with a needy little half-trill and it kills a very small part of Juno. With a plasma knife. Numerous times.

This was a bad idea, Juno thinks as Rex teethes gently over his lower lip and moves to press the tip of his nose into his cheek to nuzzle him softly. There's a little sound there, half whistle, half _purr_. Oh god.

"How about a second round?" he asks very softly to Juno's ear.

Juno reaches up and collects Rex's wrists into his hands, thumbing over a thready, eager pulse. He kisses each point very slow and deliberate, and Rex seems content with this answer, fingers curling just a little bit, a flush blooming new on his throat, up his cheeks prettily. The feathers in his hair are glossy and peaking a little more, ruffled in all the right ways and Juno kisses his skin again, one on each wrist, watching his entire body stand on a razor's edge.

Fuck that it's always the pretty ones. He shouldn't have let it go this far. He shouldn't have given Rex the chance to even stray out from under his eye, but he'd let him. He'd let Rex Glass fly and he fucking came back.

But _why?_

He gathers Rex's wrists in one hand then, reaching a delicate pair of fingers up to smooth through the nape of his neck.

He kisses his jaw. Rex sighs.

Juno sees it. Small and white, fluttering in the air from his own hot breath. He plucks the thing sharply just underneath Rex's ear and hears the little snapping of a feather being plucked out of its little pocket of skin.

"Ah-- _Juno_ \--"

"Anyone ever tell you that this just isn't your color?" Juno whispers, fingers tightening around his wrists a little more vice-like. He pinches the feather between thumb and forefinger, lifting Rex's wrists high over his head, as high as he can anyways while showing him the little feather he's pulled from just behind his ear. The feather is primarily white, but a little bit of stain clings to the top of it, messily done, unsealed, color coming off onto Juno's fingers. "You missed a spot."

Rex looks unperturbed (he probably is refusing to look anymore ruffled than he already is, Juno knows it.)

"People get dye jobs all the time, Juno, is it really so strange?"

"Awfully shitty dye job, Glass." A beat. Tighter. Rex winces. _Tell the truth_. "Didn't have time to do some touching up? Maybe coming back was a mistake. You know, maybe staying as long as you did last night was a mistake considering you almost got what you came here for."

Glass looks at Juno with a withering gaze.

"I haven't the faintest--"

"Cut the crap."

Rex's expression twists. "While normally that’d be _telling_ ," he says and presses in even closer, makes the air hot with his presence. Juno tightens until he can be certain that his grip will bruise. Rex moans softly, like it'll get him somewhere and Juno's expression doesn't change. "I’ll let you in on the truth, detective. I just couldn’t resist." He feels the softness of Rex’s lips against his ear and he shudders, closes his eyes against it. “You’re a force, Juno Steel. It’s hard to stay away from you. I almost want to take you with me, really.”

Juno finds that he wants to smile in a satisfied way, but instead, his frown just deepens.

“Sorry to disappoint you,” he says, pulling Rex away from him. “You’re not taking anything where you’re going.”

“Oh _Juno_ , how exciting,” Rex gasps. “Where _am_ I going? Somewhere nice, I hope.” Juno’s brows draw close and his voice sharpens now. Might as well get in a little questioning while he has him.

"Who the hell _are_ you?" he hisses. "Infiltrating Dark Matters? Getting on my case? Trying to make off with the key to my safe?"

"Wouldn't _you_ like to know,” Rex laughs, tossing his head back just a bit to flick an errant curl of black hair from between his eyes. He grins and it is _absolutely devastating._  “What's wrong now, feeling a little vulnerable?"

-

Rex Glass escapes with one last kiss and leaves a trail of fast-moving chaos behind him. A note written behind his back with bound hands, a traffic feed of two cops, stripped naked and bound to the side of the boulevard by their cruiser.

The note, as Juno reads it over, it's signed _Peter Nureyev_ . The key to his safe, which Juno was sure he had rescued, is gone, and the mask? _Also_ very gone. The only thing that Nureyev leaves behind is that strong scent, vibrant and sending his senses into a tailspin, his emotions set to tug of war.

Juno feels like a cruiser accident, all smoking flames and fire. Damn right he's vulnerable.


End file.
